Who I Wanted to Be
by CasualCynic
Summary: It was no longer as simple as old pantyhose and briefs. It was something much more complex, and it was very, very real.
1. Chapter 1

It was more than just some musty sheets he found in the storage closet. It was more than a pair of rain boots he pulled out of the mud, or his brother's green leather gloves. It was more than the thin black stockings stuffed into a clear, plastic egg his mother purchased years ago for an event his father forgot to bring her to. They were stretched and folded, stapled twice in the back. He found what he could, putting together little pieces found here and there discarded over the course of… Jesus Christ, how many years, exactly?

Of course he was talking about the years he spent in the McCormick household. His family's run-down trailer with enough drama to last seasons of any television series.

He was quite sure his little sister would have torn his arm off by now had she any strength. With their main source of nutrition being frozen waffles, the trio of siblings weren't exactly known for their healthy physique. He was fortunate to have the friends he did. None of them had excessive funds but, then again, he wasn't a beggar. No, just a kid who would bag half his plate to bring back to his sister. Of course, she could never finish what he brought home. He would give the rest to his elder brother, provided he wasn't passed out drunk after raiding their father's liquor drawer. If that was the case, he'd throw the brown paper bag in the fridge. The policy then was first come is first served.

This had been going on for years, now, and he knew from the beginning that it was pathetic. It wasn't the kids' faults their parents were constantly shrieking, drinking, unable to hold a job, and consequently being unable to put food on the table. Not that it made it any less embarrassing. He knew his peers would stare at him during lunch when he wrapped a Salisbury steak in a napkin and tucked it away in his parka's pocket. He could hear muffled jeers when he'd put a carton of milk in his backpack or scoop the vegetables off the tray and into the same paper bag he'd been using since the previous year. He felt the air tense around him as his better friends struggled to avoid acknowledging his actions. His face turned red, his eyes shot to the floor, and he pulled the strings to tighten his hood, concealing even more of his face from those judgmental stares.

It got worse at the house. He refused to call it a home. A home is not a place where you're insulted, beaten, deprived, and abused. It was just a house. A leaky roof over his head. A home doesn't have a mother screaming about the father's inability to put decent clothes on their youngest daughter, or that father counteracting with that mother's meth addiction during her pregnancy of the eldest son. And with a little girl and a mentally inhibited boy out of the physical abuse picture, most of the sideways blows hit him square in the mouth.

It was fourth grade when he boldly decided enough was enough. Years of starving, abuse, tears and agony had flown by and he finally had enough. Concerned parents and busybodies had called child protective services before, of course, but for whatever reason the siblings remained in their rat-infested trailer. A number was advertised on television for the well-known show White Trash In Trouble. _Know anyone who's white trash?_ Ashamedly, yes. _Then call our producers!_ He had to admit he was a bit curious. After a quick visit to their website on the school's computers, he found that any minors not involved in delinquent behavior were sent to foster care. His reasoning for calling the producers that evening? It couldn't be any crazier than what he had to go through on a daily basis. Imagine his shock two weeks later as he was flipping through the channels and saw his father's backyard meth lab on national television. The police then busted in with the camera crew, made a dramatized fuss for the dramatized show, and soon the children were escorted out of the trailer. After a pointless consultation with a case worker that was more one-trick pony than decent, they shipped the trio off to a foster house more out west than where they were.

Calling those people was the worst mistake he ever made. The only positive attribute this house had over the last was its size. Of course, when you foster about a dozen children you'd need a spacious area. But no amount of space could ever compensate for the behavior of these parental figures. The man was beyond strict, imposing his warped beliefs of being Agnostic on the children he was supposed to support and this... Female- for 'lady' or even 'woman' was a term too high for the behavior she exhibited- would single out the smallest, quietest, weakest girls and spew her venom about their lack of effort in everything ranging from chores to appearances. This would happen every afternoon as the girls dusted or swept, all the while that monster would be drinking from a glass of blush wine, as it was neither distinctively red nor white.

Being one of the youngest, shaggiest, and also the newest addition to the 'family', his little sister was an easy target. She would bite her lip, tears welling in her big, glassy eyes as she tried to work through the constant verbal assault day after day. It angered him to his very core, but what could he do? There was nowhere for them to go, that's why they were there. He had spoken out several times, but his curses and insults were muffled as was what little else came out of his mouth. He would go to bed with the rage and regret of knowing he was the cause of his poor sister's new found misfortune and there was nothing he could say or do to make it any better.

That's when he saw it. The Mysterion outfit he made several months ago was peeking out of an open flap in his duffle bag. He reached into the compartment, running the fabric through his hands as he pulled the garment out. It wasn't too crumpled, as it was one of his only possessions. He had put it together and worn it first out of boyish interest, his love for comics and the superheroes' morals driving him to become his own other self. The idea of a strong, masked figure was very appealing, perhaps due to the fact that he was mostly masked, himself. Over the course of time he would find that he wasn't the only one who took interest in this identity. He had worked with local authorities- whether they believed his act or simply indulged him in this behavior remained unknown- and even created a rivalry with another 'creative child' that went by the name of The Coon. As much trouble as he found himself in most of the time, he had to admit it was quite fun. That was, until a bad episode between their parents erupted one Saturday night. He didn't even remember what started it, but only that it ended in his mother furiously beating his father with a kitchen pot. And the brutal display was performed right in front of his little sister. He took her out of the room, the girl bawling and shuddering fiercer than he had ever seen her do. It rattled her to see daddy's tooth fly out of his mouth as his blood splattered on the floor and it absolutely destroyed her that mommy was the one who hurt him. He put her on their shared bed and did his best to ease her sobbing, but it was for nothing. She hid her head in her arms, completely shattered.

He couldn't quite recall the transition from that moment to the next, but what he did remember was his little sister's arms thrown around him. She thanked him for being her guardian angel and pleaded for him to keep watching over her and her brother. That's when he looked down to find himself in the robes made for Mysterion. If this was what consoled her, this was how he would go about it. So it was from then on that when she would sob and shake Mysterion would appear out of thin air, reassuring her that she was never alone. It was one of the rare times he got to see her beautiful, genuine smile.

He felt a sharp stinging inside his chest, like something was tearing at his heart in a struggle to escape. He didn't know what that feeling meant, exactly, but he knew one thing. He had to take care of this situation himself… But the little blonde hidden inside the orange parka was incapable. He would end up getting himself killed, no doubt, and possibly putting those he was trying to save into more danger than necessary. Death always seemed to find him in every imaginable form. Mysterion, on the other hand, was immortal. Sure, Kenny couldn't die, either. However, there wasn't that strong of a connection between that name and the concept of immortality. It was a power on a whole other level. Kenny couldn't die, but Mysterion was immortal. He was immortal. He kept repeating the idea in his head over and over until he finally looked up and saw Mysterion's reflection in the cracked glass of the vanity. He sighed, closing his eyes. But when he opened them back up he was lying in bed tucked securely in his parka.

The amount of holes in his memory became larger after that day. He was never great at keeping track of time, but it was gradually becoming worrisome. Some days he would have excused himself from class to the restroom, blink, and find himself showering at home. At first he assumed it was the chemical fumes from the meth lab his dumbass parents decided to rebuild, but as the weeks turned into months and the months turned into years of constant time skips, blackouts, and confusion it became obvious this was the work of something other than chemical abominations. Had he hit his head too hard during one of his death episodes? Was this a neurological disease of some sort? It wouldn't surprise him, but it wasn't like he could afford a doctor for examinations.

It progressively got worse. He would find himself in stranger and stranger situations. Sometimes he would find himself laying down in an alley or on the other side of the town. He had even found himself in the middle of Denver, just standing there in an empty parking lot with a blank expression and mind. It eventually began to spread from his personal life to his social life. His peers looked at him differently. Of course he was never admired or adored, but some of the looks directed at him were simply frigid and he didn't have the slightest idea why. Even his small group of childhood friends seemed more distant than usual. One Friday morning, the softest of that group pulled him aside between classes and looked up at him, both worry and embarrassment in his deep, green eyes. He expected a 'lay off the booze' or a 'don't ruin your life with drugs' speech, but he got neither one of those. What he did get, however, was a figurative slap in the face.

"Dude, you're a little old to keep playing Superhero, don't you think?"

The words made him freeze on spot.

He stopped going to school in the middle of tenth grade. There was no point learning more when he needed to figure out what was going on with him right now. Of course, his mother didn't take too kindly to his dropping out of school. All of her supposed time and his father's supposed money was supposedly wasted for nothing. This raised a whole new level of conflict in the household. And just like all those years ago, the wails of his younger sister rose in the room and stabbed him directly in the heart. Further than that, it jolted his mind. It brought back all the painful memories of their younger years and the ways he would... The ways he would... The ways he would cope. He felt sick. He dashed to the bathroom, just in time to purge the few contents of his stomach in the toilet bowl. His vision began to narrow and recede, amplifying the physical pain in his throbbing head.

His hands shook violently and his mouth went dry. A rising heat erupted from his chest and crept up his throat. The feeling inside of him was grabbing his insides, pulling at his inside chains and clawing at the temptation of exposure's freedom. He turned the faucet on full blast and splashed his face several times. But when he looked up in the cracked glass of the vanity, his eyes were not met with the terrified look he knew was supposed to be plastered on his face. The gaze was calm and collected, familiarly horrifying. Mysterion glared at Kenny, taking the crusty towel from the counter and wiping his face with it. It took a few minutes to get him completely dry, but Kenny still felt the water cling to his skin and dampen his scalp. It was at that moment he fully realized it. Mysterion wasn't a costume. He wasn't a product of some child's wild imagination. It was no longer anything that simple. Mysterion wasn't a part of Kenny, but apart from Kenny.

Kenny wasn't the one who had been coping with the events. He wasn't the one who reassured Karen or put himself in harm's way for the people he loved. It was never him.

Mysterion had become his own person.

But if this… Person… Was stronger, compassionate, and a guardian to friends and loved ones… It was more a blessing than a curse. Right?


	2. Chapter 2

_(A/N: I don't really like putting these in chapters, but I do want to say thank you for those already showing interest in the story. So, I'll just do a quick thanks for cutelittlefluffykins for taking the time to read and review, aph-love34 and mittercups16 for favoriting, and everyone for reading. I'll do a little mention-thanks at the end from now on for any future reviews/favorites, which are very much appreciated.)_

* * *

"You're gonna tell me when you get there, right? After you land and all?"

"Knock it off, Stan, you sound like my mother."

The humidity and heat were unbelievable that day. The air hung in thick, heavy clouds of disgusting dampness, weighing each citizen of South Park further down than they already were. It was summer, one of the more depressing seasons for a mountain town. Kyle Broflovski should have been glad he was finally leaving this place, leaving the close-mindedness and uncultured environment, and he probably would have been if he was en route to a college of his choice. Instead, he had been forcefully woken up at three in the morning by his mother who wanted to make sure he looked his best for the plane trip to his Harvard dormitory. Stan couldn't have arrived at his house quickly enough to walk him to the bus stop.

He glared at his best friend. They had been in that tumultuous and unbelievable testing relationship for over a decade, now. Still, he and Stan Marsh somehow managed to get through it all and as a result became closer and closer friends. Stan was his other half, mellow and contemplative where Kyle was headstrong and reluctant. Their personalities complemented each other, and were closer to brothers than most siblings could ever be called. "Hey, man, I don't get to go to college right now. I want every little detail, got it? Your first college girlfriend, how bad your roommate smells, how snobbish the vegan mess hall is..."

Kyle sighed. "Yeah, yeah. I got it."

A look of sudden, sarcastic resentment flashed on Stan's face. "You know, I tried to get Cartman to show up but the fat bastard said he couldn't get off work."

"Cartman works?"

"No, I think he just jerks it in his room all day long and calls it 'work'."

A harsh gagging noise formed itself in his throat. "Stan, you asshole! I don't want that mental picture!" Despite that, Kyle was still relieved it was just Stan. Chef once told him that Cartman was their friend whether they liked him or not, but the stress that followed that 'friendship' was more unwelcome on this day than any other day he could have imagined.

"Sorry, I forgot you're just so _sensitive_." Stan held up his hands in a defensive, yet jesting manner. "I'm serious, though. You do realize that you and I are the only two left, right? We lost Kenny out sophomore year and Cartman's doing whatever the fuck he's doing now." Stan put his hands in his jeans' pockets, leaning back on the bus stop's bench. "Whatever happened to Kenny, anyway?"

"I don't know. He dropped out, then got kicked out, and then, well…" Then, Kyle asked everyone he could, conducted his own search for the boy, and did everything else in his power to try to contact him, but this was to no avail. No matter how many texts, calls, emails, or social media messages he sent Kenny over those next few months there was never a response. No one seemed to know where he had gone or even if he was still alive. The idea was a little more than disturbing to Kyle at the time, but as the days turned into weeks turned into another school year he finally stopping trying to get in touch with someone who clearly didn't want to have that happen. "I don't know."

"Hm. I'm sure he's moved on and has been doing his own thing. He was sure as hell resilient. It just kind of makes me curious... Like the rest of our classmates. We had a lot of drop-outs for the amount of people in out grade." He began to count on his fingers. "Kenny was first, then Clyde."

Kyle shook his head. "No, he just transferred. Remember that whole business with his aunt?"

"Oh, yeah, with his dad and the money, right? That got ugly really fast."

"Red dropped out after Kenny did, I think. She got knocked up by some Middleton senior."

"Right, then Craig cut out after eleventh grade."

Kyle raised his eyebrows and nodded his head slowly. "Yeah, _that_ was fucking ugly. I remember the cops showing up to his house that night because his dad just started wailing on him. But he's still around. I don't think he still lives in South Park, but he's around."

"Yeah, so is most everyone else." Kyle heard the dejection in his tone loud and clear. He knew that if Stan did nothing else with his life he wanted to graduate from college with a degree. He wasn't even sure what he'd want to major in or where he wanted to go, but it was a landmark he wanted to reach. For a while, it looked like it would have been a free ride.

Stan had always shown interest in sports and was without a doubt the most athletic boy in their class. But people started to really wonder when college recruiters were showing up to watch a team with a history of losses greatly outnumbering the wins. The reason, they soon found, was their quarterback Stan Marsh. He was quick, he could make immediate judgement on the field, and he had a damn good arm. When the recruiters found out he was passing all his courses with near flying colors, Stan was packed up and sent to five different universities that hoped to pull him in their direction. All offered massive financial aide, and some of them offered a full ride.

It was a Friday at the end of their senior year, just the week after homecoming. The night before Stand had invited Kyle out for a drive, wanting to just talk. They ended up parking in the woods Stan's uncle used to take them hunting in and had some beers in the bed of the pickup. Kyle remembered the excitement Stan voiced over the opportunities that had recently presented themselves to him. Granted, football wasn't a deep passion of his, but just the thought of being able to attend a university free of tuition for playing a sport he enjoyed was a literal dream come true. He had gone on about it for hours. Kyle just sat and listened, a slight sting zapping him in the chest every now and then.

The Cows were playing their third to last game of the season against the Elmview Cardinals, one of the very few teams where the win for South Park was guaranteed. Kyle, neither a member of the football team that year nor agreeable with any type of alcohol, called in the one sick day his mother would allow him to take off from school. His body and mind were grateful for the much needed relaxation and refreshment. So much, in fact, that he had slept the entire day away. It was eight thirty that night when he finally decided to get up and stretch his legs. He went to check his phone, seeing the message light blinking, and found thirty missed texts and sixteen missed calls. When he noticed that three consecutive calls were from Stan's father, he felt his heart sink past his stomach.

He scanned through the text messages, putting them together like pieces of a puzzle. Fifteen minutes after kickoff Stan had been hit, hard. Several of the bigger players on the opposing team had taken him down in a tackle, successfully shattering most of his left side, mainly his leg and arm, and inflicting a concussion. He had to be careflighted out and was immediately placed in the Hell's Pass Hospital ER. Once Kyle saw the location, he threw the phone down and bolted out of the house. He ran as quickly as he could, the throbbing in his head now sheer panic instead of a hangover. It took mere minutes for him to reach the hospital, immediately finding the small group he would normally be part of by the entry door.

Stan's mother was a mess, wailing and sobbing into her husband who wasn't any better despite being silent about it. Wendy was hunched over in her seat as Butters rubbed her back gently. The entire room felt darker and heavier than any place he had ever been before. Kyle felt his whole body began to shake, words failing to form in his mind much less leave his mouth. Every terrible scenario he could image flashed before him, scrambling his train of thought and sending him into a slight state of panic. He felt himself being pulled to the side and looked to find Cartman holding on to his arm. Very calmly and slowly- not to mention uncharacteristically- he explained what was happening and the information they had been given so far. Stan's concussion was not as serious as they initially assumed, but his physical injuries were something to be concerned about. They had his parents sign a release to have him operated on about half an hour ago and Stan was still undergoing the procedure. Cartman told him that even thought it could have been much worse than it actually was, there would be permanent damage to his leg and possibly his arm.

Indeed, there was. However, the type of damage inflicted wasn't only what the doctors spoke of. Stan was in the hospital for three days while the doctors monitored his head trauma, then an additional three weeks for physical therapy. Kyle went to see him every day after school let out, and with every visit Stan would say the exact same thing in the exact same, neutral tone. There was no more scholarship. There was no free ride to a university and there was definitely no playing football or any sport for that matter from that day one. Kyle first told him that wasn't true, he could still play and he could still go to college. But never like it was, Stan always assured him. It would never be like it was.

He was released from his therapy just before Christmas. By now a month of school had passed and the workload he was presented with was massive. Kyle had offered to help him and even do some of his homework for him, but Stan declined. He appreciated the offer, he said, but he'd rather not have to worry about school when he was with his friend. It made sense, he supposed. Shortly after Stan was back home his mother personally asked Kyle to come over and stay with him as much as he could. The hospital bills had done quite a bit of damage on their financial state and she would be looking for a part-time job to get back some of that money. Stan's father was working as much overtime as his boss would allow him to and wouldn't be around, either. She didn't want her son to be left alone any longer than necessary in case something went wrong.

Nothing like that ever happened, of course. There was never a fall or any kind of accident, and Stan's mood was more or less bright and cheerful considering the situation. It got a little difficult once graduation came and Kyle got an almost free ride to Harvard, but the phase passed away as quickly as it showed up. The only thing that hindered the boy was a hard limp. It wasn't painful- Stan made sure everyone knew that- but it was blatantly obvious. Maybe his leg hadn't healed correctly or maybe it was a normal repercussion of the accident, he wasn't sure. The only thing that made him so upset about it, he told Kyle, was that it bothered the people around him more than it bothered himself.

"Listen to us." Stan shifted in his seat. "We sound like old men talking about the good ol' days." Stan laughed, reaching to his left side. He quickly pulled over a long, wretched looking stick. "Only I actually get to beat you with my cane! C'mere yung'un!" With that, he slung the cane over and whacked Kyle directly in the shin.

He yelped, grabbing his leg and moving to the far end of the bench. "_Ow_! Hey, alright, stop!" Stan did not stop, whacking him again in the same spot and then slamming the end down on his shoe. "Okay, _okay_! Stan, we're done! Joke's over!" He just laughed, making it obvious that he was looking for this exact type of reaction. Kyle growled, rubbing his assaulted leg. "You're using a cane, now, huh?"

"Yeah, Uncle Jimbo got it for me. It's got a taser at the end. Check it out." He balanced the cane upside down in his palm and pressed a button by the handle. Sure enough, the small metal rings at the end began to spark and emit a crackling noise. Stan turned to Kyle, who was even more startled than when he was beaten with it. "Pretty cool, right?"

Kyle shook his head incredulously. "What- _no_! Dude, it quit being cool when you hit me with it- never mind that you could have _tased me_."

He scoffed. "Only if I pressed the switch. But you're right, I could have. And it actually beats walking around with a crutch all the time. I used to get really sore." Stan tucked the extra 'leg' underneath his arm. "Looks better, too."

Kyle nodded, finding it better to grudgingly agree than go into an ethical debate and risk being whacked again. They sat there in a strangely pleasant silence for another few minutes before Stan tapped him and pointed towards the end of the street. "There's your ride outta here." The bus was just then turning the corner, headed straight for their stop. They both got up, Stan taking a bit more time to do so, and the moment of impending departure weighed more heavily now than any other minute in the day. It was going to be strange, living apart from the person he had been so attached to since he learned to say his name. "This was seriously all you brought?"

He meant the one duffle bag that had been laying on the ground since they arrived. "Yeah, my parents gave me money to buy clothes and food down there. This is just... Stuff I had to bring." Kyle thought it best not to bring up the details of the sentimental objects inside the bag. It would lead to more memories which would lead to more discussions, and there wasn't enough time for that right now.

"Well..." Stan took a last glance at him, up then down. He reached out with his free hand, placing it roughly on Kyle's shoulder and looking him in the eyes. "Good luck to you."

Kyle smiled wholeheartedly. "Thanks, Stan."

"Ah, fuck it." He brought Kyle in for a quick hug. "Have fun for me. See you at Thanksgiving."

They parted, Kyle swinging the bag over his shoulder and climbing onto the bus. He gave the driver a courtesy smile, paid the rider's fee, and took a seat about halfway in. After waiting a few minutes to ensure no one else was intending to board, the bus driver closed the door and pulled back onto the road. Kyle looked out the window at Stan, who remained standing at the stop, waving, until the bus drove past him. The boy then began to make his way back to town, hobbling slightly with the aide of his cane. At least he's walking instead of sitting around, Kyle thought. He let out a breath that had been depressed inside of him for quite some time and began to rub his face.

"I don't want to do this. I do not want to do this." He moaned into his palms. Becoming a lawyer wasn't his idea. Of course it wasn't his idea. For the past few months he hadn't had any ideas of his own. When his mother finally realized that he was going to be the valedictorian without a doubt, she started thinking for him. His future, what suits he would wear- even at this moment he was in an ill-fitting Armani suit, a jet black blazer and pants that were better suited for a funeral than what was supposed to be the beginning of his real life.

He felt as if he was digging his own grave right now. Why was he doing this? Was it because this was what his family wanted? Was it because he didn't know what he wanted? Most of his classmates seemed so sure of the paths they were taking. Wendy was going to become a teacher, Kevin wanted to be a veterinarian, Bebe had dedicated most of her second semester as a senior to intern at hotels in hopes it would help her in hotel management. And even the kids that didn't know what they wanted to do were just excited about doing something. Kyle looked back out the window as the passing scenery became more populated and developed. Even this small change was unnerving, never mind the new lifestyle that awaited him in Cambridge.

A loud, resounding _THUMP_ suddenly jolted everyone, even causing the bus driver to slam on the brakes. Kyle jolted forward, nearly hitting his teeth on the seat's frame in front of him. A series of echoes rang through the vehicle, moving forward as if someone was running on the hood of the bus. This was followed by the earsplitting screeches of tires, as well as the sound of metal colliding with metal. A drunk-driving incident during his junior year made sure he never forgot that sound. The people in the bus had risen from their seats to investigate, crowding the front of the bus and gasping in shock. Kyle stood up cautiously and made his way towards the front. A few of the passengers demanded to be let out of the bus, and as the crowd dispersed through the doors Kyle was finally able to get a clear look at what caused the commotion.

It was right in front of him, but he wasn't sure whether or not he believed it.

"What the actual _fuck_."

A purple cloak flashed in front of the bus, and all the memories from when he was a child came quickly rushing back to him. There it was, the black mask, the purple jumpsuit, even the springing question mark on the front of the hood. It was displayed in the street, standing over a beaten man as police sirens wailed in the background. It was his childhood 'crime-fighting friend', Mysterion. Only, he wasn't a child. It was a grown man in the costume. He was a good deal taller than most of the officers, and seemed to have associated himself with them. Two of the police immediately pinned the assaulted man to the ground and handcuffed him while the masked man was in a conversation with a few other officers. Kyle stared wide-eyed, still processing the scene unfolding in front of him.

"Don't suppose you wanna stay on this ride, kid?"

He could only watch as the man began to leave the scene, darting quickly past the slowed traffic and running to the end of the block. Against his better judgement, Kyle got out of the bus and took off down the same street he saw this Mysterion dart into. Something inside of him gave him an extra boost in his sprint, having him tear down the sidewalk at a speed he didn't think was possible in his current state or attire. "Kenny?" He called, eyes darting rapidly for any sign of him. The street came to an end, but Kyle did manage to catch a glimpse of something that fluttered like fabric on his left side.

"Kenny! Kenny, goddammit, wait!" He yelled louder this time. Kyle started to feel his legs burn and his heart rate increase dramatically. He looked in every direction, searching for any person. The streets seemed to be bare and the alley he swore he heard footsteps coming from was void of like as well. At the end of the alley he came to a sudden halt. He was in front of an apartment complex and saw one person passing by the area. Not even bothering to take a second look at the person's physical appearance, Kyle took in the last of his breath and screamed as loud as he was able to.

"_Kenny_!"

"What? Who is it?" When he turned to face his caller, Kyle stopped dead in his tracks. He felt his jaw drop and his eyes widen into a bewildered stare. It was him. Kyle watched blankly as the boy's face started to slowly morph, first from inquiry, then into contemplation, and finally realization. It was Kenny. "Oh, no fuckin' way. _Kyle_? Is that you, man?"

He looked awful. His face was withdrawn, pale and covered in pock marks. His wide smile revealed a set of light yellowing teeth, a few chips on the front incisors. The upper right half of his lip looked as if it had recently been torn, the indentation of this skin being red and irritated, and short patches of sandy blonde beard were randomly scattered along his jaw. His eyes were none the better, both of them bloodshot and crusty. They gave off the impression that he hadn't slept in quite a while, maybe even a few days. Even the color of his eyes seemed to change. Kyle remembered how light and blue they used to be, so bright they were nearly void of color. Now it seemed the color had been washed out in a different way. A murky grey was predominant, only slight hints of blue behind the surface. All these features were all hidden behind a mound of sleep-mottled blonde hair that grew down to the bottom of his neck.

Kyle had to quickly rattle his head in order to shake himself out of this stunned frame of mind. "Y-Yeah. It's me." The only thing Kyle truly recognized about this boy was the torn, orange jacket he wore. Various rips and pulled strings hung down from the garment, one being an arm's length split down the right side.

The crooked smile got wider, followed by a choppy laugh. "Well, goddamn! How long has it been? Three, four years? How's it been going?"

"Okay, Kenny, what the _hell_ are you doing?"

He arched a brow, though his smile didn't leave. "I was trying to be nice, but before that I was gonna make a lottery run." He held up a few folded scratch-off tickets. "You maybe wanna come along with me? Catch up a little?"

Kyle had finally caught his breath. "No, that's not what I'm talking about! I'm talking about how you just caused a three car collision!"

A moment of silence ensured itself between the two. "Okay... This isn't one of your weird ways of telling me I've become a trainwreck, is it?"

"Kenny, I _saw_ you. You jumped on the bus, you stopped a car, and you pulled out the driver and beat him to the ground."

"Oh my dear, sweet Lord." He was taking this conversation far from seriously. "I think that would be something I'd remember. How long ago was this?"

"Just now! And I know it was you because you were wearing that... That damn Mysterion costume!"

A baffled look overtook Kenny's features. He pulled back a little, cocking his head and giving Kyle a suspicious, sideways glance. "Dude, seriously? Mysterion? Back from, like, fourth grade? Come on... That was cute when we were kids, but..." He left the sentence unfinished, shaking his head and harshly blinking his eyes as if the gesture would make up for words he wasn't able to say.

"I know what I saw."

"You saw a man in purple tights and briefs outside of his pants?"

"I _know_ what I _saw_."

"And I'm telling you that it wasn't me! First of all, my costume is gone. It's been long gone. Second of all, do you think I would still fit into it?" It was meant to be a joke, Kyle knew that, but he could still hear bits of annoyance in the boy's tone. "And where would I put the costume? I don't live here."

Kyle forced himself to take slower, deeper breaths. "It was a man in that costume about the same height as you-"

"Alright, that's enough." The humor completely left Kenny's face. "Look, Kyle, I don't know who or what you saw, but it wasn't me. I quit playing that game a long time ago and I don't need you bringing it up when we haven't seen each other in years." By now his tone had become full to the brim with agitation. The dark bags on the underside of his eyes began to spasm and the corners of his mouth pursed. "So let's drop it, alright?"

It was a little off-putting, to say the least. Especially since he had nearly run his legs off for what was more than likely nothing. Kyle huffed, taking a step back and rubbing the back of his neck. "Sure, man. Whatever."

Kenny stared blankly at him for a moment, probably expecting another remark about the situation, but eventually gave him that same crooked grin. "Whatever, then." He began to fish through his left pant pocket. "So how have you been? What's got you coming to Denver in a suit? Job interview or something?" The blonde pulled out a crumpled soft pack of Marlboros and picked out a cigarette.

"Uh, no. College." Kyle watched him closely.

"Ah, really? Which one?"

"Harvard. My parents know a few people who hold chair positions."

"No fuckin' shit? Damn, dude, color me impressed." He finally got the flame to spark and carefully held his cigarette over the lighter. "…'ere we go. Eh?" Kenny pushed the pack towards Kyle, offering one of the three smokes left.

Kyle shook his head. "No thanks."

"Alright, cool." The blonde stuffed the pack and lighter back in his pocket. He lifted his arms over his head for a wide stretch. "So, Harvard. What are you going for?" Kyle snorted.

"Law, what else?"

"Ooh... Do I detect some_ bitter sarcasm_? Criminal or civil?"

"Criminal…" He was about to make a remark regarding the detection of his tone, but a faint beeping caught his attention. It was his digital watch, alerting him to the little amount of time he had left. Kyle groaned and rubbed the right side of his scrunched face. "Shit. _Shit_. Alright, Kenny, listen. _Some asshole_ in a jumpsuit crashed my bus. I know it's been a long time since we've seen each other, but I have an hour to catch my plane."

Kenny just shrugged and took another drag of his cigarette. "Not a big deal."

"Uh, _yeah_, a big deal."

"Dude, the airport's maybe a fifteen, twenty minute walk. And flights always take off late, anyway. Get your shit, I'll walk you there."

"This is it."

Kenny gave him an approving nod. "Traveling light. I'm with you on that one, man."

And just like that, Kyle was walking down the road with Kenny like they used to do so many times when they were children. It felt strange, uncommon. It felt like this boy walking beside him wasn't the same boy he had spent his earlier days with. There were so many questions he had for him. Where had he been? What was he doing now? What the hell even happened? Of all the questions he had pondered about over the years, Kyle had to pick the one that he shouldn't have given two shits about. "If it wasn't you in that costume, then who was it?"

Kenny let out a groan and shook his head. "Fucking hell, Kyle, I don't know. Someone who saw some old pictures and got creative." He pointed at the street running perpendicular to the one they were on. "Take a left here."

They turned at the corner. Kyle pulled his bag over his shoulder and started to walk faster for fear of missing his flight. "I'm sorry. I don't mean to keep bringing it up if it bothers you."

"Yes you do."

He rolled his eyes. "Fine, I do. It was just... Weird, seeing _that_ after all this time."

Kenny shrugged. "Yeah, I suppose it would be. It would actually be really fuckin' weird, I'll give you that."

"You know that I tried to find you after you dropped out, right? I didn't get one reply. I thought you fell off the face of the earth."

"Well, typically when you're kicked out of the house and don't have any money in your pocket your priorities become a bit shifted towards eating and finding a cardboard box to sleep in- not connecting with friends through social media." Kyle wasn't sure the lightness in his tone was something to disregard. Typically the subject of losing your home and subsequently losing your family and friends was a situation deserving some sort of sincerity. Kenny gestured in front of him, the street turning off to their destination. "Here we go, the Denver International Airport. Check yourself in, I'll wait."

It took much less time than he anticipated to get everything sorted out and his bag checked into the cargo. For some reason there weren't many people flying out today, the clerk told him. She started going on about how it was because of the failing economy and how her brother lost her job at this airport and Kyle tuned out, there wasn't less of a shit he could give. At the end of that ordeal there was still about thirty minutes until his flight. Kenny had joined him again and they both walked into the terminal, climbing two flights of stairs to get to the security checkpoint.

The line was relatively short. Kyle sighed in relief, rushing to get a place. Then, he saw the sign reading that non-passengers were not permitted past this point. Christ... He had said more goodbyes in the past four hours than he had in the past four years. "They're not going to let you past here, Kenny."

Said blonde nodded with a disdainful look crossing his face. "You're saying this is it?"

"Hey, don't forget that _you're_ the one who disappeared and_ I'm_ the one who spent months trying to track you down." Those feelings of frustration began to eat at his emotions, but he stopped himself. This is what he so desperately wanted to get away from. All the negativity, all the pent up grudges, it was all... silly. Silly and unnecessary. It took a little bit of effort, but he manage to turn his forming scowl into a smile. "If you think I'm saying goodbye now, then you've got another thing coming."

"Awesome. Really, that's awesome." Kenny chuckled. "I don't have a cell phone or anything, but I use that instant messaging and video service Skip-E. The free one. Ever hear of it?"

A nod. "I have heard of it and I use it." They took a moment to exchange personal information regarding the service, then the awkward silence between them resumed. Kyle couldn't help but feel out of place. Strange, considering all he had been through with Kenny. Maybe it was the sudden shock of familiarity, maybe it was the man in the purple jumpsuit and briefs that had thrown himself in front of a bus, or maybe it was the wretched state his friend was in right now. He wasn't sure what to expect when he walked out the door this morning, but he knew this wasn't it. He did know, however, that this image standing in front of him wasn't what he wanted to see.

"You know something, Kyle?" The voice caught his attention. He looked up at Kenny, who still bore that bright smile despite the cuts and cracks. "I haven't seen you in years, but you look exactly the same. Momma's little boy stuffed into a suit that's way too big for him." Kenny laughed heartily, happily. Kyle turned his gaze to the floor and shook his head, forming a snappy retort, but when he looked back up Kenny wasn't there. It was just a massive pool of people gathering around the security checkpoint. He craned his neck around, thinking he might have been by the escalators that would take him back to the first floor. It would appear not. His only focus points were small bits of orange flashing in and out of empty spaces, but there was no definite distinction of them being part of Kenny's coat. Just when Kyle thought he lost sight of him for good, the ripped jacket sleeve shot up and started to wave. Hesitantly, Kyle raised his arm and waved back. "Good luck!" It was a shout, but it was barely audible over the station's commotion.

Kyle let out a shaky sigh, wondering if this was just coincidence or some sort of warped irony. He started to take off his shoes and mumbled under his breath, "Yeah, man. You, too."


End file.
